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I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting.
A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat.
I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence,
Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light
I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms:
That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone,
Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives
When your own sweet father died
You woke before first light
And ate half a plate of eggs and grits,
And Drank a glass of milk.
After you'd left, I sat in your place
And finished the toast bits with jam
And the cold eggs, the thick bacon
Flanged in fat , savoring the taste.
Then I slept, too young to know how narrow
And grave the road before you seemed---
All the houses zipped tight , the night's
Few clouds muddy as cold coffee.
You stayed gone a week, and who were we
Without your clean p…

All along the rail
road tracks of texas
old train cars lay
rusted &overturned
like new african governments
long forgotten by the people
who built & rode them
till they couldn't run no more,
they remind me of old race horses
who've been put out to pasture
amongst the weeds
rain sleet &snow
till they die,rot away
like photos fading
in grandma's picture book,
of old black men in mississippi/texas
who sit on dilapidated porches,
that fall away
like dead man'…

i know my upper arms will grow
flabby it's true
of all the women in my family
i know that the purple views
like dead fish in Seine
will dot my legs one day
and my hands will wither while
my hair turns grayish white I know that
one day my teeth will move when
my lips smile
and a flutter of hair will appear
below my nose I hope
my skin doesn't change to those blotchy
colors

i want my menses to be undifficult
i'd very much prefer staying firm and slim
to grow old like a vintage wine fermenting
in old wooden vats with style
i'd like to be exquisite I think

i will look forward to grandchildren
and my flowers all my knickknacks in their places
and that quiet of the bombs not falling on Cambodia
settling over my sagging breasts

i hope my shoulder finds a head that needs nestling
and my feet find a footstool after a good soaking
with Epsom salts